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Chapter 4

Lucy lingered in the doorway to Virtue's bedchamber, a tray in her hands. "I have brought some tea, my lady."

"I do not want tea," Virtue replied from her writing desk, barely paying Lucy a glance.

"Of course you do!" Lucy swept into the room, balancing the tray of freshly brewed tea atop her arm. "It is infused with those exotic herbs we had imported from Spain earlier today. I even added honey and dried lavender, like you enjoyed last summer in Bath. It took some charm to convince Mr. Thompson at the market."

"I am simply in no mood, Lucy," Virtue sighed and folded the diary she'd spent the evening scribbling in.

"Not in the mood for tea? Now, I never thought I'd see the day," Lucy remarked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

Virtue pressed her lips together and eyed her friend with a frustrated glare. She was far too bubbly for the moment, far too spry considering the circumstances. Yes, Virtue loved tea. Further to that point, one of her favorite pastimes was sampling tea from the far reaches of the world, relishing the different flavors and tastes that bridged cultures. But if Lucy assumed that would be enough to brighten Virtue's mood, she had seriously underestimated just how dour that mood was.

"I see right through what you are trying to do, just so you know," Virtue remarked as Lucy set the tray down and began to pour a pot of the truly fragrant blend.

"I am sure you don't."

"Why are you so cheerful!" Virtue groaned. "Have you not heard the news? Surely you must have. But no, it appears not. For the Lucy I know and cherish would not carry on so lightly if she had. She would be right here, complaining with me!

"Oh, Lucy knows you well enough by now to know there is scarcely a point in even trying. When you are in this sort of mood…" She pretended to shudder. "One would think that winter had come early."

Virtue's expression was unamused. "I am glad one of us is enjoying ourselves."

"Well, someone ought to. Though I must admit, I am rather taken aback by your current disposition. The Lady Hartleigh I comforted in the library mere hours ago was eager to be wed. And now, presented with her wish, she does nothing but lament. Very strange."

Was she being serious? Virtue studied her bubbly friend, looking for the conceit or the sense that she was putting on this facade as a means to try and cheer her up. For it was inconceivable she was being serious here. It was inconceivable that she viewed the recent developments as anything but terrifyingly distressful!

On the surface, one might mistake this for a boon. And indeed, when Virtue had first been told she was to be wed, excitement and joy were the primary emotions that backlit her heart. True, she had harbored hopes of meeting the gentleman beforehand, of assessing any potential for affection. Love, she firmly believed, could blossom over time, and she was fully prepared to nurture it.

But then she learned of who she was to marry… and all hope was dashed like a clod of dirt being tossed at a stone wall. It was simply untenable. There was just no chance! Truly, she wanted to be positive. She wanted to want this marriage. But the more she thought on it, the more she deliberated and wrote and really considered, the clearer it became—it was simply not right.

Had her father taken leave of his senses? He had sold her down the river for his own gain. The mere prospect of boasting a Duchess as a daughter had him floundering before her ‘betrothed' like a fish out of water. It truly was that simple.

"He is a beast, Lucy," Virtue lamented. "The rumors abound, and they are dreadful!"

"And of whom are we speaking here?"

Virtue glared at her maid. "His Grace, of course! How am I supposed to marry a man like that? How could Papa ask such a thing of me!"

"Perhaps he believes it to be a beneficial alliance."

"For himself!"

"And surely the Duke cannot be as vile as the whispers suggest."

"What if he is even more so?"

"If we all believed rumors, he would not have chosen yourself as his bride-to-be."

"Does that not speak more of what kind of man he is?!"

"Or perhaps he simply understands your plight—"

"Enough, Lucy," Virtue groaned. "You always have an answer for everything, don't you? While I appreciate what you are trying to do, it does little to comfort me now. I desire sympathy, not reassurances."

When her father had told her who it was that she would be marrying, it had taken Virtue a few moments to remember why she recognized the name and, most importantly, why that was a problem.

His Grace, the Duke of Greystone, was said to be a monster. A shut-in who lived in a castle chosen purposefully to cut himself off from the world. That he hated people, hated socializing, hated going out in public! A cruel, cold, calculating man who was a danger to be around, violent and unpredictable, who had made the choice to isolate himself because he could not trust himself and the temper that he was known to have.

He was a killer, also. Bloodthirsty and barbaric. Having fought in the Peninsular War, from what she had heard, when the war ended he was beside himself with misery as he did not wish to see it finish. He enjoyed killing, as the number of men whom he had slain demonstrated perfectly. His proclivity for violence was whispered to be so extreme that he maintained a sinister chamber within his castle's depths, where he allegedly subjected villagers to unspeakable tortures.

And yet, perhaps the most disconcerting rumors surrounded his visage. She remembered the first time she had heard of the man, Lord Greystone, a man so marred by scars that he was compelled to conceal his face behind a mask. It was something of a haunting tale shared amongst mothers, even during her debut season three years ago, as a cautionary whisper. The very thought that this could be her future, the man whose name had once been murmured among her peers as the fate of those unable to secure a suitable match, was chilling. Tales of a gruesome scar slashing across his face, burn marks that clawed their way across his scalp, and an empty eye socket that he left exposed, reveling in the discomfort it provoked.

He was known as the Grimstone beast for a reason. And a man no one dared to cross.

And that was the man whom her father had chosen her to marry!? Virtue might have liked to have been positive, to hope for the best, to believe that she could fall for a man who she hadn't even met yet. But if even a quarter of what was said of him was true... a cold shudder swept up her spine just to think!

"You know," Lucy began softly, shepherding through Virtue's somber reflections. "I heard a rumor just last week that you might be interested in. Seeing as we have all but succumbed to gossip anyway."

Virtue eyed her maid with curiosity. "Is that right?"

"Oh yes. I was at market earlier today when I happened to come across Tabatha and Sandra, who serve Lord Motley if you recall. I have known them for years—that is to say, they are not the type to indulge in idle chatter without some shred of truth behind it."

"And what did you hear?" Virtue murmured, her tone low, eager for any distraction.

"Oh, you would not believe the tale they spun! They spoke of a young lady living nearby, quite the talk of the town, who was on the verge of marriage. Until her betrothed caught her in a rather compromising position with another. A stable hand, no less! Naturally, the betrothal was promptly dissolved, but they were far more interested in this young lady. What drove her to do such a thing? And how could she possibly show her face in public after that?"

"I suspect she was bored," Virtue said dully, not caring for such gossip for it reminded her of the cruel things said about her.

"But that's not the end of it. This lady, bold as brass, made her public reappearance not long after. And would you believe, she found herself embroiled in a spectacle at the very same social gathering? Ended up tossing a tray of wine at her friend, then tackled her right in front of everyone. Everyone saw it too, so you know it's true."

"She..." Virtue paused, the narrative ringing uncomfortably familiar. Slowly, the realization dawned, the shadows of memory aligning too closely with the story's contours. "Wait!" She narrowed her gaze and fixed it on Lucy. "Are you talking about..."

"You, dear," Lucy affirmed rightly. "Surprise. The young lady whom they spoke of was indeed yourself."

"But I did not tackle Prudence!" Virtue protested, feeling angered now. These were the types of rumors that swirled about her three months ago, and the fact they were still going... "And I certainly did not seduce a stable hand! Why would they say such things!"

"Because people love to gossip," Lucy replied matter-of-factly. "Rarely, if ever, is there any truth to these stories. And frankly, they are seldom worth the bother of disproving." She looked down her nose at Virtue. "I find that more often than not, the truth is as boring as it is predictable as it is different to the stories being told. But then, that's just me," she concluded with a shrug.

"I see your point," Virtue muttered bitterly. "But… but this is different!"

"How so?" Lucy pressed, her voice gentle yet probing.

"Well..." She raised a finger in the air as if to make a grand point but found the words unwilling to formulate. "It is that... with my situation... and the Duke... it just is!"

"Perhaps it is," Lucy conceded with a nod. "Or perhaps it isn't. But is it not worth approaching this with an open mind? Regardless, you are to marry His Grace. And short of divine intervention, there is not much that can change that."

"Perhaps I should seduce a stable hand truly this time..." Virtue sighed, throwing her face into her hands.

"And seeing as you have accepted your fate," Lucy pressed on as if Virtue hadn't spoken. "Might I suggest that you give him a chance? That you hope for the best because I am sure that most of what people say can't be true. You want to marry, do you not?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"And you want to be happy, yes?"

"Of course I do!"

"Then this here is your best opportunity," Lucy said with gentle firmness, resting a reassuring hand on Virtue's shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze. "But if you go in expecting the worst, then that is what you shall manifest. Be positive, Lady Hartleigh. Do that and I know this won't be nearly as bad as you think. And if it truly is as bad as they say, then by God's grace, I shall ride into that blasted Castle myself and be your savior from the hands of that cruel man."

Virtue giggled a little at that. They were wise words. Precisely what Virtue needed to hear, despite not wanting to, truth be told. She might not have believed them fully. And some of those rumors she had heard... they could not have come from nothing. But Lucy was right in that this marriage was going to happen, nothing could stop it, so why not approach it with an open heart? Perhaps there was a chance for happiness after all.

Encouraged by Lucy's optimism, Virtue lifted her cup of tea, the warmth from the brew suffusing her with a tentative hope. She savored the familiar, comforting flavor, feeling a slight lift in her spirits. She remained nervous, of course, and fear still gnawed at her, but enveloped by her friend's unwavering support, she found herself also touched by curiosity. Could it be possible that His Grace, the Duke of Greystone, was not the monster tales made him out to be?

A few moments of comfortable silence passed between them before Lucy's soft giggle punctuated the quiet.

Virtue, curiosity piqued, set her teacup down with a soft clink against the saucer. "Care to share what is so amusing?" she asked.

"I was just pondering," Lucy began, her smile lingering with amusement, "how His Grace might be having a very similar conversation with his own circle, perhaps fretting over the very same rumors about you that are circulating."

The thought struck Virtue with unexpected force, prompting her to reach out and grasp Lucy's arm. "But he is not so foolish to believe any of them... right? Right?"

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